


You've got fail! (aka magical rainbow sparkle woofs)

by MostFacinorous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, blindfold, you've got mail - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To fill a gaping hole of fic void, as requested by hushthenoise on tumblr, You've Got Mail-esque identity mystery fic. </p><p>in other words, the fic where Stiles and Derek meet on a forum, under assumed names, and hit it off. </p><p>And then porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in just a couple of hours, in a bit of a rush, to get it to a friend before her bedtime. Please excuse any wonkiness that results from that combined with my general lack of sleep. :)  
> You can find me and my sleep deprived brain most days at MostFacinorous.tumblr.com!

It wasn't like he was looking for a werewolf dating site, okay.

No seriously, he was researching. It was how he spent a good 80% of his downtime these days—trying to read up on things that might kill him, or find out more about the things that were keeping him alive a lot of the time. Namely his best friend and the local werewolf pack. 

Because seriously, this is his life now. 

The forums were funny—being in the know, you could tell which members were just weirdo RPers, and which were legit wolves. And it was funny how often the real wolfs's threads had TOS violating complaints on them, about how "Come on man, real werewolves wouldn't be all emo over it—look how fucking cool they are now!" or, Stiles's favorite, "What an ass, don't you think werewolves would actually still have SOME empathy?"   
One of the legit wolves who was named Dale Erickson was sort of Stiles's automatic favorite, because he played by the rules, never called people out for their bs werewolfisms, but he would point out inconsistencies in their stories that most people probably wouldn't pay enough attention to. Human things. Bad storytelling things. 

And he about passed out laughing when he found Jackson on there. 

So just for fun, he decided to make an account. 

He knew about werewolves, and he'd played enough video games and read enough books and seen enough movies—he could tell a good story. He bet he could balance everything out and make a compelling character.  
Or at least one more popular than The_Whittemore_Beast. 

Yeah. Seriously.   
What did Lydia even see in this guy?

So he went through a proxy to sign up for a brand new yahoo email address. And then he used the same proxy to sign up for an account on WOLFMOON.org

He filled in the fields. Name, Stephen Jacobs. Because lol Twilight is dumb and so is this site. Age, seventeen. Location, Northern California. Username, he paused, thinking.   
TriskeleSpiral. Avatar, a Microsoft paint recreation of Derek's tattoo.   
Lending to legitimacy and all. 

Account made, he activated it with his fake email, and logged in. YOU ARE VISITOR: it told him, sans the number of what visitor he was. He laughed about it and got to work on writing his introductory post. 

Hi. My name's Stephen. You can call me Steve. (Hi Steve!)   
I've been a werewolf ever since I ran into this bundle of fur and red eyes and teeth in the woods a few months ago, and while I have sort of gotten used to the weirdness of changing against my will and running around chasing the neighborhood cats, I feel like I have a lot to learn. I've been browsing the net for tips and tricks a lot lately, and while some of the posts have been really useful… some were nearly disastrous. Telling people to break fingers that you have a pretty good feeling will heal is one thing. Having them order wolfsbane pills off of Amazon? Not cool at all. I sweated and hallucinated for days.   
Not pleasant.   
Anyway, I was hoping there might be like, an opposite-of-wolfsbane drug (catnip?) that I could take to maybe help me not get all toothy and naily at school? I get that a lot of it is not being pissed off, but that can be rough when you're the (ha) underdog. 

He posted it, went over to his AIM window to see if Scott was logged in (not likely. Not since Allison, really—most of Scott's free time was either keeping them from getting killed, or making smoochy faces with her.   
He flipped back to the other window and refreshed the screen. 

Hey Steve. Where in NorCal are you? 

Jackson operated with his usual amount of subtlety. 

Bay Area. But seriously, it doesn't matter where the plants grow naturally, you can buy anything online these days. 

Just to be dense. Noobish. Let Jackson think Stiles had no clue who he was.   
This was fun. 

Hey Steve. I'm Linda. The real answer to how to keep your inner beast tamed is to keep him satisfied if you get my drift. I do camera shows daily at eight PM PST, if you're interested. Here's the link. I take card. ;) 

He hovered over the link, but scoffed when he saw the bit about needing to pay for it. Seriously, who actually paid for porn? 

Sorry. Can't. Seventeen. 

And then… nothing. He refreshed, and worried that he'd scared people away with the age thing. Half the accounts just wanted RPS anyway, but seriously? Can't even say hello?  
Finally, there was a new one. 

Steve:   
Sorry, no magic herbs to make life easier. But if you can find a focal point for your humanity, an anchor, you can usually use that to try and balance yourself out. Like Peter Pan's happy thoughts, give yourself something that will be easy to bring to mind, and that calms you down.   
-Dale

 

Stiles stifled a grin.   
Yeah, okay, Dale was awesome, and obviously for real. Before he could answer him though, Jackson replied again. 

I don't know about plants, but I have an alpha who would maybe teach you if you're looking for someone to learn from. Wolves are stronger in packs you know, and we could always use another beta. –J

Dale: Like a song, maybe? Would that work? Are we talking psychological triggers? Or are we talking Inception, spinning tops, tokens type of things? Seriously, I'll give pretty much anything a shot at this point. 

J: No offense, but um BDSM sort of terrifies me, and also I'm underage, so you and your alpha probably don't want the trouble that would come with me, regardless of whatever kinds of membership bonuses you might get.

Amused and imagining Jackson's spluttering at that, he logged out and went downstairs to make himself something to eat.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two of the fic where Stiles and Derek meet on a forum, under assumed names, and hit it off. 
> 
> And then porn.

Today I had a fur related accident at school.   
Seriously, if only my clothes healed the way my skin does now. I don’t even know how I'm going to explain all this shredded clothing to my dad.   
That said, at least I now have a wicked back scratcher.

Stiles had decided that the best way of updating was to tell short stories with a humorous bent—progress the plot of his character, keep him easy to empathize with, and keep him from falling to despair the way everybody else tended to, when they wrote. 

He went back to the intros thread, and found a message from Dale there, saying simply,

Works different for everyone. 

And a message from Jackson just calling him an idiot and a waste of his time. 

His little envelope at the top of his screen, though, had a little exclamation mark next to it, and inside was another message from Dale. 

Hey. Nice icon. Just out of curiosity, what is it? 

Stiles hit the reply button, hesitated, then went with, 

Since getting attacked, I have these dreams sometimes, and that's a recurring symbol. I just sketched it out in paint real quick. Why, have you seen it too?  
He hit send, and smirked. 

Damn, he was so good at this. 

He went back out and decided to read through other stories, this time beating Dale to calling out HumbleShield on the way he had posted about not being able to drive any more, since his car couldn't support all the weight he'd supposedly gained, and yet he also managed to take out this hot girl the night before, in that same car, and get lucky with her. 

Again, with the little exclamation mark. 

In my family, it's a sign of our anchor, which was family. It's a sign of loyalty to each subdivision of wolf—what The Whittemore Beast was actually talking about, no sex involved. Alpha-Beta-Omega—the lead wolf, the follower wolves, and those who don't have a pack of their own. The lone wolves.   
You're the last, aren't you? Has the one who made you come looking for you at all?   
-Dale

Stiles smiled, heart warmed a little that this total stranger on the internet like, cared.   
About the imaginary wolf he'd made up. 

I was actually on vacation in England when I got bit. Flew home between then and the first full moon. My dad doesn't know yet. No one does.   
And I get that. I was just yanking his chain. I've seen him around on the boards. Not the friendliest guy on the planet, you know?

He deleted the bit about 'in England' so he didn't sound too much like American Werewolf in London, and sent it. 

Then, he waited for a couple of wistful minutes, before breaking open his chemistry homework. 

By the time he was done, he had a reply. 

Well done. He foams at the mouth whenever someone on the internet is wrong, or accuses him of being wrong.  
Well, I've been around for a while. I'm not the best advice giver, but better than whatever asshole told you to take wolfsbane. 

You said your dad doesn't know—what about your mom?   
-Dale

He didn't even hesitate this time. 

Dead. Miss her terribly, but that's sort of why I don't want to tell my dad. We've spent enough time in hospitals, and I'm pretty sure that would be his first reaction to finding out.   
Appreciate the offer.   
What do you recommend for not running around on the full moon? I haven't hurt anyone yet, mostly because I tell my dad friends and I are going camping, but really I go back packing alone, as far from humans as I can get. That kind of trip starts getting pricey after a few months though, and the checks for having a dead mom don't really cover everything, what with gas and groceries and my sudden need to buy shirts and shoes six times a month.

There was hardly a pause.

Sorry to hear that. Most of my real family is gone too. I've had to build a new one. It takes time, and can be challenging, but it'll be worth it. It's the best anchor I've ever had, when it works. 

Around the full moon, we usually break out the chains and manacles and lock ourselves in a basement until we're back in control. Then we aren't suffering alone, and no one gets hurt who won't heal up from it later. 

But definitely don't go trying to get arrested or looking for some kind of cage fetishist… You need something stronger than stuff made to hold humans.

Sounded like the approach was universal. He double checked where Dale was from, wondering if Derek's Dad had gone to the same werewolf school as Dale's Alpha. New York City.  
The other side of the world. 

Oh well. 

Sounds like all kinds of fun. I guess the camping trips will have to be good enough, then. 

You said you have a pack? Who's your Alpha? How does he become leader—do you have like, werewolf elections?

That would legitimately be good information to have, all things considered. 

Derek was kind of an idiot, when it came to knowing how to interact with his Betas. He tried to imagine someone else being in charge. Scott would be his first choice, he supposed, though that was more out of loyalty than anything else. Scott was sort of an idiot, too. Boyd maybe. 

Inheritance. That, or unanimous belief, but that's hard to get. Most Betas, given the option, would try to become the Alpha, and so wouldn't believe enough in someone else to make them in charge. The inheritance option usually comes from killing your predecessor, though, so… Alphas are few, far between, and usually pretty damn tough. 

Stiles pulled out a notebook, and started taking notes, sending back his questions and writing down the answers he got well into the night, until he ended up passed out on his keyboard.   
\---

It went on probably for a couple of months. Derek would teach Scott some little trick, or Deaton would, and Stiles would ask Dale about it, while mocking Jackson in thread after thread. 

Sometimes he had to explain to Dale where he'd heard a rumor, so he made up a lie about a bookstore owner who had an interest in the occult. 

In his mind, he was definitely thinking Giles. 

Eventually though, it got so he didn't bother checking AIM for Scott, and just logged on to Wolf moon. 

Which sent him scrambling to close the website, one day, when Derek came climbing through his window without so much as a surprise or a knock on the sill. 

After that, he realized just how dumb he'd been, playing around with a wolf all the way on the other side of the world. He had the ones here he should be dealing with.   
Who had apparently noticed him being preoccupied. 

That next morning, when he got back from running from a goddamn phoenix really? He made a post about how the book shop owner wasn't what he seemed, how he was a hunter, and Steve had to get the hell out of there, but he'd write when he could. 

He ignored the message from Dale, asking if they could meet up at some point. 

…Because he wasn't really ready to face the fact that he'd really, really like to meet up with Dale. In like, a year. When he could meet up, and maybe talk to Dale, and make out with Dale because seriously, it was so much easier to get a crush on a dude over the internet. Pure personality. 

Any way, that was that. And things settled back to normal.  
For about a week.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final part of the fic where Stiles and Derek meet on a forum, under assumed names, and hit it off. 
> 
> And then porn.

"I need you to call the guy who likes my shoulders again." Was all the greeting he got, and he all but jumped backwards through his door. 

Stiles was sitting in his computer chair, glaring like it was hit fault that school didn't let out until two today. 

"What? Why? Danny's Jackson's best friend, have him talk to him. But mostly why?"

But like that, Derek was gone. 

Stiles rubbed his forehead and pulled up his new favorite website, wajas.com, where he could build the visual representation of the local wolves's personalities, as rainbow sparkly wolf pups.   
He wasn't ready to breed them yet. That was a new level of creepy that he wasn't willing to touch. 

Though he bet the Isaac wolf's markings would blend really well with Erica wolf's…

\---

"See, it just shows that he's from Texas, because he's using a proxy. He's actually from right here—oh. It's Stiles." 

Derek snarled, and Danny couldn't help but hide a grin. 

"Oh my god you just got You Got Mailed by your cousin, didn't you?"

Jackson stared and Derek cursed and left. 

A few minutes later, Stiles's cell phone rang with a call from an unidentified number.

 

"Hello?" 

"Steve?" It was a soft, but surprisingly deep voice, and Stiles froze. 

"Who is this?" He asked, though he knew damn well. Dale. 

"I was worried about you so I came looking. Are you safe? Can you meet me somewhere?" 

"I—" 

"There's a bakery here, on the corner of Main and Adams. Meet me behind it." 

And then the call disconnected. 

Stiles full on panicked, standing up so fast his chair fell over. 

What the hell was he supposed to do?

If he went, it would be dead obvious right away that he wasn't what he said he was. He could maybe explain, but Dale didn't seem like the kind of guy who entertained bullshit. What if he wasn't happy about having been tricked, and decided to take it out on Stiles's non-werewolf healing flesh?

His next thought was to call someone to have them tip Derek off to an interfering werewolf on his turf, but he didn't want to do that to Dale, not after he'd been so.. so awesome.

So yeah, maybe he should call Scott. Dale had never said to come alone.   
But he didn't answer his phone. As usual.   
And Stiles was running low on options. 

If Dale had tracked him this far, what was to stop him from coming all the way to his house? And then it wouldn't be just him who was in danger, but his dad… and the rest of the pack, who would smell the strange wolf and go looking for him—only to realize that he was easily twice as experienced as them. 

Stiles started up the jeep and took off for the bakery, parking out back, where he knew no one would see his car from the road. Or his body, if it came to that. He looked around, not seeing anything, and was surprised when a blindfold fell over his eyes, and a set of claws came to rest against his jugular.   
He stiffened and went still. 

"You lied to me." Dale whispered in his ear, warm broad chest pressing to Stiles's back. 

"You lied the entire time. Who are you really?"

Stiles tried to swallow, but felt the pinpricks, and gasped for air, trying to quell his rising panic. 

"My name is Stiles, Stiles Stilinski, my dad is the sheriff and my best friend got turned into a werewolf almost a year ago. I'm just—I was trying to help him." Tears, real tears of fear and regret were being absorbed by his blindfold. 

"You're an idiot, Stiles Stilinski. Do you know why I came here?" Again, the voice didn't raise above a whisper, and Stiles wanted to shake his head, wanted to catch his breath, but he couldn't. 

"To… kill me?" He whispered back, and Dale's claws tightened around his neck in warning. 

"No, Stiles. Not at all."

He was turned in Dale's grasp, so that he'd be facing him if he could see, looking right up into his face, and then…

Then lips. Warm, dry, soft lips, kissing like he was afraid of him, afraid for him. A brush of beard against his chin.   
Not a bad first kiss, all things considered.

"I—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry. I didn't mean to care about you but.. I did. I do. And I… there is an Alpha here, and it's probably not safe for you to stay, but… " He reached up for the blindfold, and Dale caught his wrists. 

"I don't need to stay long. Tell me, Stiles, do you want the bite? Do you want to be what you said you were?" 

Stiles swallowed, able to do so now, still so close that he could feel the puffs of air on his lips. 

"I can't. My dad… I can't do that to him. Please…" Dale wouldn't force it on him, would he?   
Oh man, he was going to be on the next set of milk cartons, meeting up with a internet person, kidnapped and ending up hairy. Shitshitshit. 

Dale kissed him again, a bit more hurried now, a bit more achingly insistent.   
Stiles flattened himself to Dale's chest, his brain trying to think of an escape plan through enjoying his touch, but Dale let him go quickly, probably hearing from his heart how he was thinking. 

He spun him around and pushed him against the hood of the jeep. 

"I can't let you see me Stiles." He told him seriously, his quiet voice again right beside his ear, his erection now grinding into Stiles's ass. "But will you let me touch you? Can I have you? Just this once?" 

Stiles's legs were shaking and he stretched his hands out in front of him, finding the seam at the side of the hood of his jeep. He nodded, mouth dry. 

It was enough. 

Dale ground up and into him, the force of it rocking the jeep on its shocks and lifting Stiles off the ground.   
He whimpered, not really caring how undignified it was. He could feel how big Dale was. It was terrifying, and his heart rate must have said so, because Dale pulled back, turned him around, and captured both of Stiles's hands in his left hand, using his right to open his pants up and pull him out. 

The first hand job of his life, and Stiles was getting it while pressed against his car, behind an abandoned bakery, by a man he'd never seen.

Never a dull moment. 

He was young, and inexperienced, and it was sudden, so unexpected, and he felt himself coming far sooner than he could reasonably be proud of, but Dale seemed okay with it. He moaned out Dale's name while rocking his hips upward and into his hand, cumming over his skin. He let go of Stiles's wrists to scoop it up, and spun him around again, plastering him over the warm hood of the car.

He worked his pants down, and used Stiles's own spunk to lube up his hole. Stiles whined as a finger, then two, and slowly, slowly, a third, were added in. Dale pulled away and Stiles heard his zipper going down, then the unmistakable wet sound of him using his cum covered hand to slick himself up. 

"I'm—" Stiles started, at the same time as Dale said,  
"My name isn't Dale." 

The confession was unexpected, didn't fit in the moment, and it made Stiles squirm. It was the first time Dale had spoken with his actual voice, and… 

"I wanted to. Wanted to do this, but I can't. Stiles, I want to fuck you but I want it to be my name you say when you come again. Can you do that?" 

"Derek?" 

Stiles leaned forward, dragging the blindfold against the hood of his jeep. 

"Derek, you're—of course you're Dale. Of course."

"Stiles." It came out a little strangled, and Derek let out a huff. 

"Jesus, I'm not going to get any readier, oh my god we could have been doing this for months." Stiles realized, just as Derek breached him. 

He was pressed flush against the chrome of his grill, and Derek began slowly thrusting into him. 

"Soft flesh, square metal, oh my god." Derek grunted and lifted Stiles, still in him, and turned them both around, so his ass was against the car, and he was raising and lowering Stiles onto him like a humanoid fleshlight. 

"Oh my god you're like the Hulk." Stiles babbled, and Derek slipped down to sit on the dusty asphalt, obviously mindless of the heat still lingering in it. 

Stiles seized the opportunity and climbed off, turning around to face him and kicking his pants off so that he could raise himself up on his knees. 

He lined Derek back up and slid him in, feeling the drag that said his cum wasn't quite enough. 

He rolled his hips in a circle, not really raising up again, just using Derek to press every available inch inside of him. 

Derek snarled, and began lifting his hips, fitting himself snugly all the way inside of Stiles before pulling back, getting his feet up and his knees bent so that he could hit rapidly inside of Stiles. 

He pitched forward, using his hands on Derek's shoulders to keep him up, and he tried to kiss him despite his bobbing up and down with every thrust. 

When Derek came, he cried out into Stiles's waiting mouth, and when he stilled, Stiles took himself into his own hand, hard again now.  
He jacked himself off the way he'd spent ages perfecting, and came quickly, the word 'Derek' rolling off his tongue as he went tripping into oblivion. 

He rested his forehead on Derek's as he recovered. 

"So. How do you feel about rainbow digital dogs?" He asked, breaking the heavy silence, and Derek pushed him off of him with a roll of his eyes. 

"Ohhh man, wait until Linda hears about this." 

Derek just gave him this despairing look that very clearly said, 'Why did I like you, again?'   
And Stiles just laughed and kissed him.


End file.
